Hum

by George Aitch

It was Kevin’s fault. We shouldn’t have gone into the woods but he insisted we leave the house. Though I’d fled to the cabin for an escape, my neuroses had caught up with me. My pockets were full of them, they tumbled out whenever I spoke. I was halfway recovering from a breakdown. Although I adore life, I’d spent the last year lurching from crisis to crisis, pausing to lean on my friends.

Kevin had born a large load of this burden, and I could tell that things were fraying between us. He’d developed subtle tics. The worst was his hum. That stupid melody would only be something which he’d come up with. The tune was lighthearted, though once it floated through your ears it took root. He is humming now, right now as I trace the cord to the wall to find the source of this strangeness which permeated our lives. That funk which this retreat was supposed to free me from.

The hum had started while he sliced carrots. I hadn’t been eating that day. As he prepared some soup for the two of us, I sat by the window ledge with arms folded. A black van drove past, and my friend continually failed to draw me into a conversation. I didn’t like it, neither his hum nor the van on this lonely road so far away from everything.

My life in the city had snapped. The walls had begun to close in there, too. I was fragile, a husk unsuited to life around so many people. The constant pulse, the buzz of all of those densely packed bodies living together had proved too much. At night, the chittering cockroaches parading up and down my bedroom walls took me to my wits’ end.

There were more black vans in the city, too. If the pitter-patter of insects or wailing sirens kept me awake, I would sit by the window and watch cars drifting between the streetlamps. I counted the vans. When the number grew too high, I knew I’d been compromised. I’d take refuge on the streets. On those late nights I’d pace around the block, trying to determine which people were following me. If I saw someone twice, I’d run. One of them chased me into a coffee shop once. Hysterical, I’d placed my order at the counter. The coffee went undrunk as I peered over the booths until morning. This was the final straw.

I wasn’t meant to live in that way, so I’d rented a cottage in the foothills where it was quieter, where I wouldn’t be followed. None of those sirens or shouts, alarms and subway station buzzers. It is peaceful out here. I’m not looking back. At night I hear dogs barking, I hear cars on the freeway, I hear foxes fighting, human-like screams. The best nights are those with no sounds at all, not even the wind.

This aura of silence reached out and seized my personal life. My former friends who’d clung to the busy life conspired to check on me. Kevin had been the one chosen to come over and ensure I was fed. He’d plucked some pretext out of the air by way of a reason to stay for a few days. There was something lingering between us.

I knew that he was in love with me, I could see it in the way he talked, what he did and didn’t say. Initially, I was repulsed. But we’d known each other so long; he was one of my closest friends, and I didn’t feel as though I should write him off for a harmless crush. If anything, I allowed it to prosper, which might have been the cruel thing to do. It didn’t affect the way I would behave, though having another body in the house made me nervous.

Dinner was served piping hot. At the table, Kevin smiled and prattled even without my eye contact. He set two bowls down and went through the motions of conversation. I waited for him to try some first. I wasn’t sure then how much of this he had planned in advance.

Over an hour I picked away at soup. Each spoonful had a lingering chemical taste. Like the cheerful hum, it was off. The metallic tinge at the back of the throat was still on my tongue the day after. I hadn’t been taking my meds for a while; this was Kevin’s way perhaps of making sure I was dosed. It wouldn’t be the first time someone slipped chemicals into my food.

After the meal, we took a constitutional through the hills behind the village. Kevin stumbled ahead, green boots and secondhand raincoat covering his ample frame. I trudged behind with my hands in my jeans. It had been his suggestion, much like his hint that perhaps I should take a break from the city. He couldn’t believe that someone as keen on hiking as I had been living near this beautiful stretch of forest and not yet ventured out to explore. Was this how he’d planned on luring me away? Did his hum portend some malign end for me? This was day three of his stay and the humming hadn’t ceased, hadn’t paused and little by little was driving me to distraction.

Still, it was nice to get out the evening. The cool air frosted our breaths. This pale mist drifted between the baring tree branches overhead. Their shedded leaves crunched beneath our heavy boots. In the distance the owls called softly to each other, announcing the hunt and proceedings of parliament.

The serene forest orchestra played a lovely evening adagio only spoilt by Kevin’s off-tune intrusion. He was humming that stupid melody under his breath. It ruined the atmosphere; I couldn’t stand it. Even though he was standing a way off, I could hear it in my ear as though he were right beside me. Employing ventriloquism to wear me down is a mean trick, though what’s worse is the baiting conversation; there’s no acknowledgement that he’s doing it. The hum picked up in volume as we moved beyond the coppiced woods far from the trails and hiking routes.

“Check out that sunset, Mark,” he said.“Isn’t it good to get out?” Each remark had a false cheeriness, like the hum. I didn’t recognise the tune, but it was always the same. It was the same the first time we tramped through the woods together, and it was the same we hiked deeper into the forest. The one tune provoked a memory, a common thread of out-of-sorts bearing and habits which I hadn’t noticed before. As a fresh bolt of inspiration, it came to me; I was struck with what was going on. That man was not Kevin.

My friends weren’t the only people trying to pull me from my comfort zone. There was a therapist, too. A faceless wall, one in a line of many. She tried to get me walking in the woods. Every meeting she’d promote keeping active, a health kick. She used that phrase a lot. I didn’t trust her, either.

Come to think of it, both she and Kevin synchronously recommended the great outdoors to aid recovery. They were working in concert. She had this way of fiddling with her pen when she talked, a distracting habit. Other than that, she might have been any number of the other talking help I’d sought after.

All of this had been processing for months. Now the man who wasn’t Kevin accompanied me into the woods. It had been easy. I’d suggested that we get out for a bit, and he’d been so eager. I saw through it, a chance to get me alone. But I was prepared. The heaviness in my pocket reassured me, even as the twilight came in, I was safe. Still, he was humming. The noise set my teeth on edge. The thing smiled, but not how Kevin smiled. When it spoke, it was only borrowing his voice.

A stood-on twig snapped, setting my hackles up. I’d heard stories of creatures of old. Subtle monsters which wore skin like clothes. These horrors snuck into peoples’ lives, a sort of brutal doppelganger, and assumed the void of whoever they’d killed. But there were always subtle differences. Kevin never used to hum. His love for me might have been something more than desire for intimacy. It was possible that I was the next victim. I knew this and was prepared.

“Isn’t this great?” it said, with his voice. “Remember when we used to do this all the time?”

If only the moon were up. We turned a corner off of the path and tramped through the undergrowth. Tree branches swayed in the breeze. It was dark now. It was time. I turned to face what used to be Kevin. From my pocket, I lifted the hammer high. The first blow knocked it to the ground.

Before the creature had a chance to lift its hands to stop me, I showered its head with blows. Its screams were unlike anything I’d heard before. They were inhuman and soon became wet and muted. When it had stopped breathing, I dragged the body into the dry autumn leaves and walked back home. On the way, its hum taunted me.

The police arrived two days later. I had no reason to hide what I’d done. They were taken aback when I showed them the hammer. All through the trial I insisted on the truth, which must have helped. After all, I’m not in prison. My case worker explained that it was a type of hospital, which is fine, I suppose. The trouble is they keep saying I killed Kevin. But he isn’t dead. I can still hear him humming.